You’re out there, I know it,
and I’ll never meet you—
never walk with you through April orchards,
never duck in a doorway with you
in sudden rainfall,
never brush your hair back
or touch your hands.

You’re out there, only to be found
by another. And even in my dream

you become someone else’s miracle,
like a single slender candle
lighting a world of shadow.
In my thoughts we walk under apple trees,
but as I turn around,
you vanish. I lose you
over and over. I wake up
in my empty room,
and I know you’re somewhere
I’ll never find—as far from me
as a moon, or a lost language.

But I hear you, I think I can
hear you descend the stairs,
open the front door,

and walk out into the dark
of late March.